The complexity of confusion
by Locked
Summary: Sherlock is bored and John is being very insightful, which is not necessarily a good thing... Warning: writing this reduced both authors to tears. Eventual possible Johnlock!


"Bored!"

John looks up. "For goodness sake. Do a puzzle or something."

Sherlock dismisses the idea with a petulant wave of his hand. "Too easy!" He stares at John for a while. "Do something!"

John puts down his book. "What do you want me to do?"

"Something interesting... Something unexpected... Surprise me... I don't know... Everything is just so... BORING!" Sherlock jumps up and starts pacing the room.

John sighs and casts around for an idea. Anything to get his friend out of this rut he is working himself into. "Alright. Let's go out somewhere. Let's get a train and spend the night in Brighton."

Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "Brighton. What's so interesting about Brighton?"

John shrugs. "The beach?" But he can't really picture Sherlock at the beach. "I don't know, Sherlock. It's a change of scenery."

Sherlock huffs. "Yes changing boring scenery into even more boring scenery. Can't you find me a murder? Not a big one. Just something to get me through tonight?"

John almost laughs at this. "No. I can't.I can't just look under 'murderer' in the yellow pages and call up: 'Oh, hello, yes, just wondered if you'd done any murdering recently? My friend is bored and needs a case...'"

Sherlock knows he is being silly, but can't help himself. "Why not? There's gotta be a murder going on somewhere out there. I mean, this is London!"

"Then phone Lestrade?" John suggests.

This sets off on another bout of pacing. "He's mad at me. You phone him!"

John remembers the latest incident. Probably not a good idea to call Lestrade then. He looks around, then notices the TV guide. "Here you go..." He turns on the TV. "Midsommer Murders, that's a case. ... Just not a real one."

"Butler did it!"

"It's been on for two minutes! How could you possibly know that?"

"Oh come on John. Look at him. He's got mud on his right trouser leg, he won't meet the gardener's eye, they're lovers by the way, and the only other one with a motive was the cook and she was in the lady's bedroom stealing her pearls".

John turns off the TV with an exhasperated sigh. "It's too late to phone Lestrade right now, can't you wait until tomorrow at least?"

"Murderers don't sleep."

"Then go out and LOOK for one by yourself."

"Fine!" Sherlock heads for the door, grabbing his coat. Then he stops and looks at John. "Can I have your gun?"

"No!"

"Why not? Mycroft took mine." Sherlock is practically sulking. "Again..."

John remembers quite vividly. "We both decided you can't be trusted with it."

"Why?"

"Possibly because you've been shooting the wall with it?"

"So what? It's just a wall!"

"It's Mrs. Hudson's wall."

"She wasn't using it. I was"

"The point is you can't just go walking around London at night with a gun."

"Why not? Might meet a murderer."

"Fine." John gets up. "I will go with you. I'll take the gun." He goes to get his jacket. "...why do I always give in to you...?"

Sherlock smiles and for a moment he looks positively cute. Then his expression changes and turns into something more calculating. "Let me have the gun. Please!"

John gives Sherlock a searching look. "Why do you want the gun so badly?"

"It'll make it more interesting." Sherlock shrugs, failing miserably at looking innocent. "You only use it when you absolutely have to."

"Which is the only time that it should be used. What is wrong with you today?"

Sherlock stamps his foot. "I'm... BORED!"

"Yes I got that."

Sherlock deflates and turns away. "Do you know what it's like inside a head like mine? Nothing ever stops or slows down. And when I've got nothing to occupy me, it all just speeds up and up and up until I just wanna..."

"Sherlock..." John moves closer to him, suddenly concerned.

"John?"

"You're... you're alright, aren't you? You aren't going to do anything silly?"

Sherlock's entire demeanor changes again. "Can I have a cigarette?"

"... I don't think that's a good idea..."

"Just one... pack?"

"You've been doing so well. Where are your patches?"

"None left. Used them all yesterday."

"Why don't you eat something. That might help."

"Food? Are you kidding me?"

"I haven't seen you eat anything for a while."

Sherlock dismisses this with another dramatic wave of his slender hand. "So?"

"I know. We could bake something. Cakes or... I don't know. Biscuits."

Sherlock looks hopeful. "Lot's of sugar right?"

"Well.. it depends on what we're making I suppose, but in general yes."

Sherlock reaches for his scarf. "Sugar sounds good now. You know what. Why don't you start getting ready and I'll just pop around the corner for... some fresh air?"

"I wasn't born yesterday, Sherlock. You're not going out to buy cigarettes. Everyone in a three mile radius knows not to serve you anyway."

"Not the new boy at the... never mind..."

John goes into full military mode. "Kitchen. Now. You can give me a hand."

Sherlock shuffles after him. "You're no fun."

"Well I'm not the one complaining I'm bored. You know who gets bored, Sherlock? Boring people."

Clearly not intending to help in any way, Sherlock flops down on a chair. "Gee thanks."

"You must have no imagination whatsoever."

"I have plenty of imagination. But you always get pissed at me, when I put it to use."

John can't argue there. "Why don't you get a healthy hobby? Or a girlfriend."

Sherlock glares. "Not my area, and you know it."

Trying to gloss it over, John goes on. "Well why don't you get a games console or something, wouldn't that entertain you? Or take a class in something."

"Games are too easy. And no point in taking a class. I already know everything worth knowing."

Sherlock can be so infuriating at times like this. "I'm trying my best here, Sherlock, I really am..."

Sherlock actually looks contrite as he mumbles: "I know. And I'm sorry... I just can't..."

"I know." John sighs. "I just hate to see you like this. I wish there was something I could do."

Sherlock hesitates. "There is..."

"Apart from giving you cigarettes or a gun."

"John." Sherlock won't meet his eyes. "You're a doctor... You can get me something... to numb... just until this goes away..."

John feels his stomach drop. "Oh no. No. We're not going down that route."

Sherlock tears at his hair and groans in frustration. He looks at the doctor, pain and desperation in his eyes.

"John... Please!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." He really is. "It's for your own good."

"I know. But I don't want good. I want... I want... anything but this!" Sherlock is pacing again, his hands tangled in his hair.

"This is the point where a normal person would play a computer game or watch porn..." the sentence trails off.

Sherlock stops in his tracks and looks at John, an incredulous expression on his face. "Porn? How is that supposed to help?"

"...never mind."

"Why bring it up then?"

John rolls his eyes. "Some people use sexual release to release other frustrations."

"Ok, so let's watch porn. The one in your bottom drawer. Not the one with the woman in the red thing. She gives me the creeps."

John turns bright red. "How did you...? ... are you being serious?"

"Sure. Why not. What goes with porn? Tea?"

John is shocked by the sudden turn things have taken. "...whisky?" is all he can manage. God, why did he even mention this? "But usually it's not a group activity..."

"Oh..." Sherlock regards him. "I'll just pop out for a spell then and you can...?

"No! God. No! I don't need to..."

"But I thought you wanted... I can just..." Sherlock gestures to the door. "No?"

Resigning to a night of Sherlocky weirdness, John signals for him to stop. "Alright. Look. You go put it on, I'll make some tea." It was the lesser of two evils.

"No whisky?" Sherlock looks sort of disappointed.

"Alright. Whisky."

"Great. Be right back." Sherlock bounds up the stairs to John's room, delighted at this new experiment.

"Right." John shakes his head and goes to find two glasses among the mess in the kitchen. He pours the whisky and brings the bottle through to the living room.

Sherlock bounces back into the living room brandishing one of John's last supposed secrets. "Right. Here we go." He puts in the dvd and slumps down on the sofa.

John can feel himself cringing already... but if nothing else this will be an interesting experience. He is curious to know what Sherlock's reaction will be. He hands him one of the glasses of whisky.

"Thanks." Sherlock watches the screen intently for a while with a puzzled expression. "John, can I ask you something?"

Oh no. "...yeah?"

"That woman. The one with the implants? Do you find her attractive?"

"Are they really im...? Never mind." John considers. "I suppose so. Why?"

"She's so... fake. I think the wrinkles on her neck is the only real thing about her."

John snorts. "Well I wouldn't be marrying her, but when you just want to look at something that appeals to the sense for a while..."

Sherlock tilts his head, and screws up his eyes. "Can't really see the appeal..."

"It's about personal preference." John decides he might as well see this through. "What do you find attractive?"

"I don't know... a good murder?"

"That's not what I meant."

Sherlock shoots him another glare. "I don't know, ok? Certainly not..." he gestures at the woman on the screen. " ... that!"

Ok. Time to test a theory. John does his best to sound casual. "What about him?"

"The blond one or the tall one?"

Bingo!

"Either of them."

Sherlock studies the two men. "Not sure. The tall one clearly has some anger issues. And the blond one is kind of short... I mean..." Sherlock looks mortified. "Not so tall..." he then looks sideways at John. "... not that that's a bad thing."

John looks at Sherlock. This is priceless. "Why are you blushing?"

Sherlock looks away, but John sees his cheeks going up and extra shade. "I'm not... I'm just... hot... from the whisky, you know." He looks back at John, defiantly. "Why are you smirking?"

"No reason. I just think I've worked out why you don't have a girlfriend, that's all."

"Oh, so now you're the detective?"

"I have my areas and you have yours, you know that."

"Fine, so let me know. What is your great deduction? Please enlighten me..." Sherlock clearly does not like being the one being read.

"You're gay. And that's fine." John quickly adds.

"Gay? What do you mean?" Is Sherlock being intentionally dense?

"You're sexually attracted to other men."

"Am not..." Sherlock looks away again. "I just think they're more interesting than..." His voice trails off.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Sherlock." Seeing his friend's discomfort John chides himself. This is a serious thing to Sherlock.

"I know there isn't..." Sherlock snaps.

"Well you don't have to be defensive about it."

"I'm not defensive. There's nothing to be defensive about..."

"No. There's not." They sit in silence for a while. Sherlock curls up on the couch, hugging his knees, biting his lip and pointedly avoid looking at John.

John knows he has to fix this. Somehow. "Wouldn't you be interested in getting a boyfriend?"

"No!" Sherlock looks appalled at the very notion. Then his face settles into something calmer. "I mean... why?"

"For company. And as a distraction." Sherlock's look was changing. Now John feels he is the one being observed.

"I'm married to my work. Remember?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "So it wouldn't be so much a boyfriend as a... clandestine affair..." He looks intrigued by the idea.

"Well whatever it is, it might help."

"I suppose so..." Sherlock finally looks away. "But how to go about it..."

John actually doesn't know. "The internet? A club? A bar?"

"Ewh..."

John turns the TV off because it's becoming ... distracting. He searches for something to say. "Someone will turn up."

"And what am I supposed to do until then?" Sherlock can't let it go now.

"...Erm... I don't know. The usual?"

"Be bored?" Sherlock gives him another of those unsettling looks.

"You can't just wait for something to land in your lap, you know."

Sherlock looks down. "No?"

"You have to go after what you want." John rolls his eyes. "That's just how it is."

Sherlock sits lost in thought for a while. "And how does one go about this... going for what you want?"

"It depends what it is your talking about. If it's a relationship then you have to find the person you feel will make you happy and then be honest about it and tell them."

"Oh... Sounds... complicated... any other options?"

John suppresses a smile. Sherlock might be ludicrously naïve at this, but he seems so serious. "Flirting?"

"Oh yes. Flirting is fun. Gets you all sort of great things. Eyes, fingers... even got me an entire torso once." He becomes lost in fond memories. Then he pours another whisky. "Want some?"

"Yes." John offers him his glass. "If you flirted with someone you actually fancied instead of having an ulterior motive then you might get somewhere."

"Oh. I see your point..."

"Good."

There is a pause in the conversation. Then:

"John?"

"Yes?"

"If I told you, that in a minute I was gonna get up, and go out to get a pack of cigarettes... what would you do?"

John is taken aback by the abrupt change of subjec.t "I'd stop you. Why?"

"How would you stop me John?" John really does not like the way Sherlock is looking at him.

"I'd stand in the door and not let you out."

Sherlock looks him up and down. Appraising him. "You think you could hold me? If I really wanted to get past you?"

John isn't at all sure. He's seen Sherlock in a fight. "I'd try. And if not then I'd follow you and tell everyone not to serve you."

"I can live with that," suddenly Sherlock is on his feet, purposefully heading for his coat once again.

"Sherlock, stop it." John gets up as well.

"No. I'm going and there's nothing you can do to stop me," Sherlock puts on his coat and reaches for his scarf.

John moves to stand in the doorway. "Sit down."

"No." Sherlock moves forward, menacingly.

John puts his hands up to push him back and stands his ground.

Sherlock gets up real close using his height to intimidate. "Move!"

John looks up at him and continues to hold firm. "This isn't going to work, you know."

Sherlock calmly let's his chest rest against the palms of John's hands. He pushes slowly. His voice deep, almost growling: "Move!"

John just shakes his head and glares at him.

Sherlock pushes harder. Putting his weight into it.

John almost stumbles back but manages to regain his balance, "Sherlock stop it"

"You stop it," Sherlock presses his advantage, shifting his weight slightly to one side, trying to slip around John.

John reacts quickly and shoves him back. "I won't let you do this."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Oh, for the love of..." He grabs John by the shoulders, pulls him in and plants and open mouthed kiss on him.

John is so shocked he just stiffens and completely freezes. Sherlock takes advantage, whirls him around, and is out the door, thundering down the stairs.

John stands there for a moment more, then regains his senses and follows after him. Sherlock is already ahead and he can run faster than John, but he'll try anyway.

Half way down the street Sherlock realises that it's the new boy's night off and stops suddenly, not sure what to do now.

John runs up next to him and then stops."What the hell! You bastard!"

Sherlock looks down at him, managing to keep a straight face. "Oh hi."

John is enraged. "Don't you 'Oh hi' me! You're completely mad."

Sherlock looks both defensive and superior. John fights the urge to punch him. "What? I got past you."

John just looks at him. "You know what? I give up!" He throws his hands up and turns around, starting off back to the flat. "Do what you like."

He's only taken a few steps, when Sherlock calls out: "John. Wait!" He sounds almost desperate.

John stops but doesn't turn around. "What?"

"John. Look at me. Please!"

John turns around slowly.

Sherlock shrugs helplessly. "Was that... not good?"

"...what do you mean?"

"You know... " Sherlock looks down, shuffling his feet a little.

"No. I don't." John is still furious but also concerned. This is a side of Sherlock he's not familiar with.

Sherlock looks at him. For a long time. Then he let's out a frustrated groan and turns away. "I can't do this!"

"Sherlock for God's sake! What are you talking about?"

"Forget it." He walks away, shoulders slumped.

"Sherlock stop." His tone softens. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock stops. A shudder runs through him. Almost like a sob.

"... Sherlock... please?"

"I can't do this. I don't know how to do this." His voice is strained.

Do what? The cigarettes? "You've managed this long."

Sherlock turns around, his eyes are red. "John. Please... Don't make me... I can't..."

"You can. You've done it already. You just have to be strong now."

Sherlock buries his face in his hands, staggers against the wall, and then slides down till he is sitting on the pavement.

John moves to crouch beside him. He is really concerned now. "Come on, mate. It's not that bad."

Sherlock's hand reaches out blindly, gropes for John's jumper and pulls him closer. "John?" The voice is barely audible.

"Sherlock... what's wrong? Please... let me help you..."

"John. Please. Just go."

John is surprised. Hurt. "No. I'm not leaving you like this."

Sherlock pushes him away. Weakly "Go!"

John stumbles but refuses to leave.

Sherlock buries his head in his arms. He is shaking all over.

John puts an arm around his shoulders. "Please... I want to help."

Suddenly Sherlock grabs him again. Pulling him down, he looks up, their faces so close, their noses are almost touching. He is practically snarling. "You're. Not. Helping!"

John stares at him, shocked by the sudden aggression. "... I... don't know what I've done..."

Sherlock let's him go, but keeps looking him in the eye. "Oh yes, the great and kind Doctor John Watson. Helps the poor madman realise what he wants. But he is too dense to see it himself. Great work. Doctor!"

"Sherlock, I don't think you're a madman...What is it that I'm not seeing? You know I don't see things the way you do."

"Yes, I know. And now neither do I, so thank you very much for that."

"What do you mean?" He sits back. "Can't you just say what you mean for once, for Christ's sake?"

"Isn't it obvious? C'mon John. For once in your life. Observe!" The last word is a desperate cry.

John tries, he really does, but coming up blank.

"Oh, John". Sherlock gently puts his hand on Johns cheek "John. what am I gonna do?"

The hand on his cheek. That's what finally makes it click. Oh God! "... that kiss ... it wasn't just a distraction... was it?..."

Sherlock just looks a him, pleading.

"... I don't know what to say."

It's like something breaks inside Sherlock. "Don't. Don't say anything. John. Please. Just go!"

"I really don't want to leave you alone while you're like this. Come back to the flat?"

"No, John. I need to be alone. Can you just give me this one thing? Please. Just go!"

"I'll call Mycroft."

Sherlock almost looks as if he's going to hit him. "You'll do no such thing!"

"Then come back to the flat. We don't even have to talk, I'll go to my room... I just need to know you're safe."

Suddenly Sherlock pushes him. With real force this time. "Leave me THE FUCK alone!"

And finally John does as he's told. He leaves. He goes back to the flat, feeling confused and wretched.

Sherlock doesn't move. For a long time he just sits there. Then finally he picks himself up. He wanders off in search of a stimulant. Anything will do.

John sits in the flat in silence, grappling with his feelings of what had just happened that evening.

Sherlock returns in the morning. Barely able to make it up the stairs, he stumbles into the living room and collapses on the floor. John is already awake, he didn't sleep much. He stands as soon as Sherlock stumbles in and rushes to his side as he collapses.

"Fuck!"

Sherlock doesn't move, just groans softly.

John checks his pulse, his pupils, feels his forehead. "What have you done?"

Sherlock can barely open his eye. His pupils are like pinpricks. His breathing very weak.

"I'm calling an ambulance. Sherlock, listen to me. Sherlock I need you to tell me what you've taken." John takes his phone out of his pocket as he talks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Don't..." Sherlock's voice is little more than a croak. "... bother..."

"Sherlock tell me!"

Sherlock is silent. His eyes are closed, but his breathing is more steady. Deeper.

John is panicking and close to tears. He gives the address to the woman who receives his call and then hangs up. "The ambulance is on it's way. Sherlock, stay with me."

A weak hand reaches out. Unsure. Searching. John takes it in his and squeezes it. "It's going to be alright... But you have to stay with me ...please... I'm begging you..."

"John?"

"What?"

He sits beside Sherlock on the floor and lifts his head, moving him carefully to rest in his lap.

"I'm... I'm gonna be fine..."

"What did you take? Please tell me."

"Nothing new... It's just... been a while." He manages a weak chuckle. "... wasn't quite prepared for..."

He is quiet for a while, John desperately watching his breathing, his movements.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"You gotta call them off..."

"No. You're still in a bad way."

"If I go in like this... Lestrade... he can't... not this time..."

John sighs and phones back to call off the ambulance. Then he turns to Sherlock.

"Why did you do it?"

"Needed... not to think... feel..."

"You do know you had me worried sick?"

"Sorry". He smiles, eyes still closed. "Nice, though."

John looks at him, sprawled on the floor. "Can you stand? ... we should get you to bed."

Sherlock considers. "Not a chance. Just get me a pillow. I'll be fine." His voice is becoming slurred and weak.

John fetches him a pillow and the duvet from his bed, then gets him a glass of water. "At least try to drink some of this? Please?"

Sherlock makes a courageous effort to lift his head, but can't make it. So John lifts his head for him and holds the glass to his lips. Sherlock manages a few sips, then turns his head away. Into John's arm. John hesitates, then presses a gentle kiss to his head, wordlessly.

Sherlock sigh is almost a sob.

He looked so weak. John is scared. "...just... try to stay awake..."  
He is still uncertain whether Sherlock really is fine or not, but he doesn't want him slipping into a coma.

Then Sherlock speaks: "Talk to me... please."

John fights the lump in his throat. "You know you should have just said, you stupid man..."

"I didn't know..."

"...at least you weren't bored any more...? ... silly sod."

Sherlock chuckles. Then coughs weakly.

"Why we never guessed before... I mean you _are_ a drama queen..."

"Oh, so that's what this is?" Sherlock gestures weakly at his body and his position on the floor. "A bit of drama?"

"I'd say it's more than a bit..."

"A bit more..." Another silence, then: "Do you know now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean: do you know what to say? Now?"

"About... us?"

"Us?" He smiles again. "I suppose so."

"It's a lot to get my head around. It was a shock. And I've been up all night worrying about you, I didn't have a chance to think about it properly..."

"You shouldn't worry... I can take care of myself... sort of..."

John laughs. "You're half dead on the floor. Forgive me if I'm not convinced."

"Well, I handled getting here all by myself. That's something isn't it?"

"Thank God."

"Hm?"

"When I wasn't sure what had happened to you... where you were... it made me feel sick. And empty."

"Empty is good..."

"...I'm not going to say I understand what... well what _this_ is... but... I know that in some way... I do love you... whether it's the way you need or not... I don't know... I can't promise."

Sherlock reaches for John's hand. He takes it and gives it another squeeze. Sherlock smiles

"I guess it'll have to do... John?"

"Yes?"

"Can I sleep now? I feel so... so very..."

John feels a shock of panic and checks his pulse again. Sherlock's body is going slack, his jaw drops.

´"No... no no no no no no... Sherlock! Sherlock!"

There is no response. John checks his pulse on his neck, full out panicking now. "Don't you do this to me... Don't you do this to me now!" There is a pulse but it's very weak. Uneven.

John undoes Sherlock's jacket and leans his face close to Sherlock's mouth, feeling his heart with the palm of his hand, checking his heartbeat and his breathing. He's showing all the signs of a serious overdose.

Sherlock is no longer breathing, his pulse is only a faint whisper.

"Damn it!"

John is leaning over him and preparing to give him CPR before he even has time to think properly - it's a risk, and if Sherlock injected anything then this isn't going to do much, but he has to try.

In Sherlock's mind, a white mist is settling. everything is slipping away.

John is trying so hard not to sob - he won't be able to do this properly if he's crying and he needs to... he needs to save Sherlock. He puts one hand atop the other and places them over Sherlock's heart, then does several quick compressions before tipping the other's head back and breathing into his mouth, then repeating.

"Come on..."

A voice, a touch, through the haze. He is not alone.

"Sherlock... come on!" He continues, refusing to give up on him.

Sherlock fights his way through the mist. Ever upwards. The voice again. His name...? His eyes flicker below the lids.

"... yes come on... breathe..." John sees the flicker, but it isn't enough, not yet...

The voice. If he can just find that voice...

"...Sherlock... don't you leave me like this... don't you dare... damn it... I love you..."  
He keeps going, relentless, pressing down on his chest again.

Suddenly Sherlock coughs, his eyes wide for a second, then he collapses back on the floor, gasping. John gathers him into his arms, so relieved... tears streaming down his face.  
"...oh thank God... thank God..."

Sherlock's voice is very thin. "You're... You're welcome..."

"... unbelievable. You nearly die and you're still making remarks like that..." But he's smiling as he holds him close.

Sherlock smiles and looks at John. His eyes focused at last. He raises a weak hand touching his fingers to John's lips. "Did you...?"

"...what...?" he smiles at him through his tears.

"... cpr?"

" ...yeah... well I wasn't going to let you die..."

"If this is what'll it takes to get you to kiss me, I suppose I can work with that. But it's gonna be hell on our finances."

John laughs... half at the comment and half with relief. "Or you could just ask?"

"Please?" Sherlock's eyes are filled with doubt and hope, fear and longing.

John nods and slowly, hesitantly, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. It feels strange. Not bad. Just strange. ... this is _Sherlock._

Sherlock wants to hold John, pull him closer, but all he can manage is a weak touch on this cheek.

"Can I call an ambulance now? Please?"

"You really wanna get me out of you hair that bad?"

"It's not that, I just don't want to risk losing you again. They can give you something to counter the drug."

"The minute my name hits a database, Mycroft's gonna be all over it. He'll put me away again. I can't go back there... Not now. You're just gonna have to get me through this on your own. You up for it?"

"... I guess I'll have to do my best...But if you slip under again I'm calling an ambulance whether you like it or not."

"Fine. Throw me to the wolves why don't you." But Sherlock is smiling.

"Give me a minute." John stands and goes to the fridge. He'd bought a six pack of energy drinks after kidding himself he'd actually go to the gym this time, and they are still there unopened. He takes one out and goes back to Sherlock with it and encourages him to drink some. Sherlock needs help to keep his head up, but he manages to drink nearly half of the proffered drink

"Thanks."

He holds him back in his lap and covers him over with the duvet to keep him warm.

Sherlock snuggles in and hums with contentment. John strokes his hair without thinking about it.

"Nice," Sherlock murmurs.

"Sherlock?

"Hmm?"

"Promise me... promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

Sherlock hesitates before answering. "I can't... I'll do my best. But I can't promise..."

"I'll make sure you never have to again..."

"Promise?"

"I'll be here for you."

"Thank you."


End file.
